Show No Fear: A Bouncer's Diary

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SHOW NO FEAR

By Bill Carson.

Copyright Bill Carson 2012

All rights reserved
www.billcarsonbooks.com

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form
by photocopying or by any electronic or mechanical means,
including information storage and retrieval systems,
without permission in writing from the copyright owner of this book.

I would like to dedicate this book to my Father, and also to my friends Andy Barker and
Jim Parsons.

Preface.

I had no real desire to write a book; in fact it was something that I had never really thought about. I worked as a night-club bouncer for just over four years and in that time I had been involved in numerous altercations, sometimes there were amusing situations but most were not. I began by making a record of the more unusual and violent incidents that occurred and put them into a diary. After four years I had accumulated quite a lot of material. So I decided to put it all together, the result is what you read here.
I would not recommend this type of work to anyone, it was downright dangerous at times and your efforts go unnoticed and unappreciated most of the time. Throughout this book I make reference to ways in which I employed specific techniques in certain situations. I am not suggesting that this is the way you should conduct yourself if you are employed in a similar role. That was my way of dealing with (situations) right or wrong I just did what I thought was necessary at the time either through fear, frustration or sometimes in anger. It is an honest account with a no holds barred approach and no punches are pulled. This book should not be used as guide, it was not intended to be one; it is just an account of what happened while I was working in this dangerous occupation. However having said that you may find something of what I have written helpful to you when you’re standing alone out there against the bad guys.
Contents.

Chapter 1. Into the Unknown.
Chapter 2. Fighting Fit.
Chapter 3. The Peacemakers.
Chapter 4. Zero Tolerance.
Chapter 5. My Manor.
Glossary Rhyming slang.

CHAPTER ONE

Into The Unknown

September 1993… Pete and I had been working together for a number of years.

He like me was into Martial arts and keeping fit, both of us used to work the night shift one-week out of every two, which threw your usual training routine out of sync. One night we decided to set up a make shift gym in one of the disused garages which was part of the building complex we worked in. We would train at around two in the morning for about three-quarters of an hour during one of our extended breaks. Much to the annoyance of some of the old gits, who were trying to get their heads down in the building next door.

Our wages at that time was less than two hundred a week. After one of our early morning training sessions we began to discuss ways in which we might be able to supplement our income, and after thinking about it for a couple of days we had decided to put our physical prowess, charm and boyish good looks to some use.

What we eventually decided upon was putting ourselves up for hire as Security for private parties and functions. It was now full steam ahead into our new career move. The word went around and after a while we were hired.

And so our very first night on the door, it was a favour really for some guy who we worked with, he was arranging an eighteenth birthday party for his daughter and was concerned about things possibly being ruined by gatecrashers. The venue was a local cricket club. It was to run from eight until twelve and was by invitation only, which makes life a bit easier for us. He paid us up front; I think it was thirty quid each, so far so good. We didn’t really know what to expect this being our first night but we had worked on a few things just in case it all went pear shaped. Our philosophy was that we would treat people the way we would like to be treated ourselves and anyone who gave us any attitude problems would get zero tolerance. The important thing to remember is that no matter what, we were going home in one piece. We put a great deal of thought and energy into finding the best ways in which we could eject troublemakers quickly and with as little fuss as possible. Not an easy thing to achieve. I had studied a lot of restraining techniques from the Karate and Judo manuals that I have accumulated over the years. My search through the numerous books led me to find a manual that I had completely forgotten about, it was called “All in fighting” in fact it was a Second World War unarmed combat instruction booklet, which had some very interesting techniques inside. Research on the subject led us to discover a total immobilization strangle and choke hold. It was a really dangerous technique and must be used with caution, what I mean is if you were to lock the hold on for too long or with too much pressure on the persons neck it would without doubt cause a serious injury. The beauty of it was though was once you had performed it correctly there is virtually no way out of it; giving you complete control over the transgressor. Also with a minor adjustment it is possible to dislocate the neck, that’s why it has to be practiced over and over in order for it to be used effectively without causing injury. I consider myself to be very proficient with this particular method of restraint and over the years used it dozens of times [when necessary] without any problems.
The only problem with continuously practicing these strangle holds was the wear and tear on the neck and throat area, we both had sore necks for a month. The only way to find out how effective your strangle holds and arm locks are is to execute them on your training partner and vice versa. That way you get to know how much force is required to get the desired effect, i.e. compliance.

I picked Pete up at half seven, he jumped into the motor and we headed west into unknown territory. We arrived at the venue at about ten to eight; it was a beautiful summer evening. As we pulled into the car park a cool summer breeze greeted us. We made our way along the narrow straight path, which led us up to the cricket pavilion and once inside a short fat bar man called us over to the bar.
“Are you two looking after the door for us tonight then?”
With that he produced two bottles of lager from the cold shelf, we thanked him for the beers and had a walk around the place. It was a rectangular shaped sports hall and at one end people were busying themselves setting up the bar and at the other end the D J was plugging in his speakers and testing the microphone, Testing, Testing, one, two, three, screeeeeeeeeeeech!
Pete was savouring the last drops of his beer with a broad grin; I have heard that he likes the occasional drink. We take up our positions either side of the door, black suit white shirt very smart. The family has just arrived and after a brief introduction the rest of the guests start to file past, each producing an invitation.
There must be about a hundred or so in now. One woman, who was of rapidly advancing years shall we say, kept looking over in Pete’s direction, she approaches him and whispers in his ear.
“You’re a big boy, are you big all over”?
I turn to Pete as she walks away and say,
“You can’t half pick them mate”.
She looked like Vera Duckworth on a bad night.
I spoke too soon she came over to me next. At the same time this other old trout was dancing provocatively in front of Pete, she was gyrating her very large backside in his direction, every now and then she would lift up the front of her dress exposing her enormous thighs, she was like a young elephant jumping about. Once around her would be twice around the gas works. Everyone was having a really good time as the party got into full swing; we had no trouble of any serious nature to deal with. The only problem we had was trying to hide ourselves from the over amorous attentions of the two old grannies. I don’t think they had a full set of teeth between them. When are you two going to take us out for a drink then? One of them asks winking at me with one of her mascara encrusted eyes. I whisper to Pete-
“They must have turned up on the wrong night, grab a granny night is next week.”
“I bet your one’s flattened a bit of grass in her time” Pete says.

The only real irritating aspect of the night was the DJ, he kept coming over to us and saying he’s done door work before and he’s a kick boxer etc. And we were not to worry because he will steam in good style if it kicks off… He wouldn’t have been able to knock the skin off of a rice pudding. The evening past with relative ease, actually it was quite a pleasant occasion. We made our escape through one of the rear fire exits to evade our two antiquated groupies who are loitering with intent at the main entrance. A quick sprint across the car park and we jumped into the little Renault 5. I point the car in the direction of the A4 and home.
The next day we were at our regular place of work when the guy who we had done the security for the previous evening comes over to thank us. He was very happy with the way the evening had gone and the way we had conducted ourselves. He goes on to say that after we had left the venue the DJ had been involved in a fight. He had received a right hander from a drunken old Pakistani bloke who had wandered into the cricket ground and found his way into the back of the DJ`s van. And so the first of many nights on the door was a good one.

A few weeks have passed since our debut; we decided to have some business cards printed and Pete drafted a superb letter explaining our services. We would go for a bit of a mooch around the pubs and clubs in our local area and have a butchers at the Door staff to see how they shaped up. If they were a bit scruffy or looked like a couple of wallies we would put the place on our mailing list and send the manager our details.
We had received a few replies but they were not offering the right money. An extra few quid being the sole reason why we have decided to enter into this line of work, we were not going to work for peanuts.
I want to explain that we are not hard men and don’t want to be, we also have nothing to prove to anyone either. I think we are entering into this with the right kind of attitude, we’re no mugs though. You have a pop at us and we will fight to the finish.
The next job finally arrived, it was through a friend of a friend, we were being asked to work the door at a private party in Chelsea. The money and the hours had been agreed, a quick change into our black suits, switch on, and we set off for west London. We decided to take the tube, because the parking in this area was a nightmare and with the traffic at this time in the evening it would have taken us ages to get there.
We were greeted by a steady pelting of heavy rain as we left the station; we quickly made our way through the long wet narrow high street, which eventually led us to the corner of the road. A right turn and three doors down we arrive. Just as I was about to ring the bell the door opened and inside the hallway was Philip, he was of medium height with grey thinning hair and quite small in stature.
“Hello boys I’ve been expecting you”.
“Fucking hell, keep your hand on your hapepenny Pete” I said.
We stood in the hallway and he asks if we would like our money now or at
the end.
“I think now would be fine thanks.”
“How much did we agree”?
“Forty five each”.
With that he pulls a wad of notes out from his pocket he must have had at least a grand there.
“Well here’s fifty each come over here and have a drink”.

We follow him into the main room of the apartment; in the corner was a large plastic dustbin full of ice cubes and bottles of lager, he knocks the tops off two bottles and hands us one each. Over to our left was a large fireplace with a blazing log fire in it, which we stood in front of and dried ourselves off. On the other side of the room was a huge dining table, about a third of it was covered in Champagne glasses. At the end of the table were two dozen bottles of the very best bubbly. Philip turns towards us and says, what I want you to do is enjoy yourselves and just imagine you are guests. The main reason I wanted you here is that a couple of the people I’m expecting can get a little boisterous after a few drinks, but I’m sure they will behave once they know that I have you two boys around.
We were asked to go down to the basement, Philip says he’ll come and get us if anything happens. Basically we were to stay down here until he gives us a shout.
We were led down a flight of stairs and into the basement, which was quite large, about twenty-foot square and right in the middle was a pool table. So we decide have a few games and after about half an hour Philip comes down to introduce us to one of his friends; his name was Johnny, the Earl of something or other and a right eccentric character. He was tall, thin, with dark shoulder length hair, he was already pist and obviously on something which was confirmed when he asked us if we wanted any [gear] he opened his jacket pocket and inside he had a substantial amount of pills and tablets in a variety of colours, thanks but no thanks, not interested mate. I don’t know what they were but I would imagine that after a couple of those you would be floating around the ceiling like a mushroom. Mind bending drugs are not our scene. The place was now getting jam-packed, and the majority of the people who showed up all spoke with that plumb in the mouth acquired accent, the upper classes old boy jolly good show and all that, what, what. You know the type; they all had that certain type of attitude, with an outward show of assumed smug superiority, pathetic. After a few drinks and a go of whatever else was on offer their masks soon began to slip which exposed their true personalities, and they then became just like any other annoying drunk. The two of us were fast becoming a bit of a curiosity, the guests were coming down to the basement just to have a glimpse of the “Bouncers” especially the women, who were poking their heads around the doorway giggling childishly and pointing in our direction. A group of young women were all moving rhythmically to the latest dance music surrounded by hooray henrys who were all studying the form and guzzling Champagne like it was going out of fashion. The women out numbered the men buy at least two to one and the basement was definitely becoming the place to be. It was getting packed and a little rowdy as Johnny came running in to where we were, glass of champagne in one hand spliff in the other and says at the top of his voice.
“You won’t get any trouble lads just a few Slone Rangers running around going yar! Yar! Yar”! Strange man.